


Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [15]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Captivity, Gen, Growing up suicidal, Implied/Referenced Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, blinded character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 16:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16814344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "I'm sitting on the edge with my two best friends... Asphalt to me has never looked so soft... So if I survive then I'll see you tomorrow/Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow... Way up in the sky/Oh, I might just try..."Charlie Scene, BulletIn which Snuggles (Victim) doesn't fly. Because gravity exists.Not as gory as other fics. Discussion of being suicidal in fic and in the end notes.





	Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> PEOPLE NAMED IN THIS FIC. TWO ARE PUT TWICE:  
> Snuggles: Victim, anyone you want them to be.  
> The gruff one  
> The gropey one  
> (The croaky one)  
> (Doe-eye: past Victim)  
> (Dylan)  
> (The baritone)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think tje guys have done, or have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> This fic contains no physical descriptions, as Snuggles has been blinded. A full explanation (as well as who each man is) is in the end notes.

“Why you looking at that?”

“Why not?”

Snuggles whimpered, curled into the lap of the first speaker. He was the gruffer-sounding of the two, with hard hands and thick spit. He seemed to be tolerating Snuggles today, letting it cling to him in its weak attempt to earn mercy. Eyeless, tongueless and toothless, clinging hands were all it had left, so the croaky one nicknamed it ‘Snuggles’. The croaky one wasn’t here, leaving only the gruff one and the gropey one. Snuggles wasn’t sure if it would prefer the croaky one here.

Paper flapped, a dense page turning somewhere next to Snuggles.

“If this ever gets found,” the gruff one said, and something tapped, “We’re **fucked**.”

“Best not let it get found, then,” the gropey one said. He turned another page and whistled. “Gross fuck.”

“Says you.”

Snuggles whined. The gruff one laughed and patted Snuggles on the head. Snuggles froze up, but he let his heavy hand rest on Snuggles’ head, painless and un-punishing.

“Snuggles gets is,” the gruff one said, “The only gross fuck around here is you.”

“Fuck off,” the gropey one said, “We’re all gross fucks. At least I ain’t keeping a goddamned scrapbook of it!”

“Man needs a hobby.”

“He cooks! He keeps Snuggles! He yells about the president! How many hobbies does one asshole need?!”

“Ask him, not me.”

“No thanks.”

Another page turned. The gruff one’s hand tightened in Snuggles’ hair, and Snuggles yelped.

The gruff one ignored it. “That’s Doe-eye.”

“Who? What?” the gropey one said.

“Doe-eye. From when I was here.”

“Oh.”

The gruff one let go of Snuggles, and it dropped back into his lap with a sob. He was breathing hard, each inhale sharp above Snuggles.

“Y’know, Matty’s convinced-” the gropey one started.

“Yeah,” the other interrupted, “I know he is.”

Snuggles didn’t know who Matty was. The men didn’t tend to call each other by name when they were together, but Snuggles often heard them refer to someone called ‘Matty’. It could only assume ‘Matty’ was another man it hadn’t met yet. The men seemed to be cautious of him; not as though they were afraid of him, but as though he could make them afraid of him and they knew it.

“Did you?” the gropey one said.

The gruff one didn’t answer out loud. He shuffled, and the gropey one whistled low.

“How’d you do it?” the gropey one said.

“And did it get me hard?” the gruff one said. Snuggles could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Nah, man. I know it didn’t. Unless it did?”

“It didn’t.”

“Aw. Okay. But tell me, though. I won’t tell Matty.”

The gruff one pushed on Snuggles’ shoulder and laid it flat on its back. It was laid over the sofa, feet hanging off of the sofa’s arm, head on the gruff one’s thick thigh, arms tucked into its chest like limp paws. The gruff one pressed a hand over Snuggle’s mouth, sealing it closed with his heavy palm. Snuggles panted through its nose.

The gruff one’s other hand brushed Snuggles’ forehead, and swept its ragged hair out of its emptied eyes. He trailed it down, between the scabby sockets and down its nose. Two fingers and a thumb seemed to surround Snuggles’ soft nose tip, and pinched in hard.

Snuggles lurched as its lungs panicked for air. Its hands shot up to grip the gruff one’s wrists and pull, weak and useless. It shook its head, his grip over its nose and mouth pinning it in place, his fingers and thumb digging into its cheeks. It kicked out at empty air.

“Hey,” the gropey one said. He clutched at the gruff one’s wrists, stubby hands covering Snuggles’, “Let go, man.”

The gruff one’s grip tightened, and then he shoved. Snuggles flew off his lap and onto the floor in a coughing heap. Its lungs burned as it sucked in the stale, slightly metallic air.

The gruff one muttered something and kicked at Snuggles. His foot its shoulder and knocked it into the coffee table.

“Hey!” the gropey one barked, “Don’t fucking do that!”

“You fucking asked!” the gruff one yelled back.

“You ain’t gotta **show** me! Coulda told me!”

“Oh, fuck off!” the gruff one kicked at Snuggles again, stood, and started to storm off. His heavy footsteps began to echo as he cleared the rug in three strides.

“If you’d killed Snuggles the same way!” the gropey one paused. He didn’t tend to stammer, but would sometimes trail off he wasn’t sure how to word himself. “You ain’t gonna convince Matty twice!”

“I’ll kill Matty the same fucking way if I gotta!”

The gruff one’s footsteps had stopped. Both men were silent for several seconds. Snuggles hugged its arms around itself.

“See how he likes being fucking scared,” the gruff one said, so much softer.

The gropey one shuffled. He put his hand on Snuggles’ head and guided it towards him. “I think you should go, man,” he said, “You’re gonna do something stupid if you don’t.”

The gruff one sighed. “Probably, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“See you, then.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Footsteps thudded away. The door clanged shut. The gropey one’s hand was still on Snuggles’ head as it lolled against his leg. He stroked his idle thumb over its crown. Snuggles cuddled into his leg. He closed the books with a thud. He wriggled and pulled something from his pocket. His vape whirred, he sighed, and Snuggles could smell strawberry flavouring.

Something hummed a short distance away. When the men had first brought it in, Snuggles had seen a kitchen in the corner with an ancient fridge. Snuggles assumed that that’s what made the constant humming noise. It was a nice constant.

The gropey one sighed again, a softer sigh than his usual exhale of vape. His idle pets had stopped, and he just breathed above Snuggles.

Time wasn’t a tangible concept to Snuggles anymore. It was unable to see a clock or daylight, kept inside away from any warmth of the sun, and the men visited it on their own schedules. When left alone, it would try to sleep, or lie fantasising about the door being kicked in in a squabble of a yelling. Someone would pick it up, telling it their name and rank and that its safe now, the police are here, its safe. Then the door really would open, one of the men would drag or carry it to the sofa and do with it as he pleased. Snuggles had come to prefer empty sleep, humming white noise from the fridge lulling it into a dreamless nothing.

The gropey one got up, and Snuggles flinched out of his way. He walked away, rustled some fabric, and came back. He stood over Snuggles and rustled. He scooped Snuggles up, lifted it onto the sofa, and pressed over it missionary-style.

Snuggles wrapped its arms and legs around him. It had learnt early on that kicking and fighting against the men lead to punishment, from the gruff one beating it bloody to the fanged one pressing needles into its emptied gums.

Something pulled around Snuggles’ hips. It was soft but scratchy, and wrapped around Snuggles’ butt and up. The gropey one rustled and shuffled, his clothed hips rubbing at rubbing at Snuggles’ naked hips and inner thighs. The fabric his Snuggles in the shoulder, and gropey one pulled Snuggles up a little.

He passed the two ends of fabric under Snuggles’ back, crossed them, and rolled them both until he was sat on the sofa, Snuggles straddling his lap. He pulled Snuggles, his arms tight around its ribs, their chests flush together. The ends of the fabric smacked against Snuggles’ back as he tied them together. Snuggles wrapped its arms around his neck like a soft embrace.

The gropey one tugged at the fabric at random, testing its strength. It was tucked under Snuggles’ butt and around his sides, crossed over his back, up over his shoulders, down under Snuggles’ arm and tied just off-centre on its back.

He stood, moving slow, one arm supporting Snuggles’ back. The sheet gave a few inches, swaddling Snuggles to the gropey one’s chest. Snuggles clung tight to him, arms and legs wrapped around him and its head rested on his shoulder, breathing hard on his stubbled cheek. He smelt strongly of fake strawberry, sickly sweet and dizzying.

His other arm came around Snuggles as well as he stood at full height. He began to walk, steps slow waddles. He had to pause between each step.

He stepped off the rug, and his slow steps became much louder. He was trying to hum a light tune, but his voice was strained and he had to rasp for breath. Twenty steps later, he dropped an arm and the door clanged.

The cold air breached Snuggles’ skin, making its hairs stand on end. It shivered, and the gropey one hugged it tight. As he stepped out, Snuggles could feel the soft sunlight on its head and shoulder, warm and kind. It raised its head like it was trying to search out the sun above it.

The gropey one kept walking slow and steady. He was managing, humming stopped, his breathing controlled and deep in Snuggles’ embrace. He paused, lifted his leg, and let go of Snuggles. His footstep clanged metallic, and he grunted as he stepped up. Snuggles hung from his chest.

He made his way up the steps. The wind whipped around them both, cold and crisp. Snuggles thought it had never tasted air like this.

The gropey one groaned as they levelled out again. He staggered, stopped, and collapsed, landing on top of Snuggles. The ‘ground’ underneath Snuggles was warm, hard, and a little damp. The gropey one braced himself and lifted Snuggles up with him to untie the sheet.

Snuggles fell back onto the concrete with a yelp. The gropey one pulled away from it, letting the sheet unravel from his body as he stood.

Snuggles sat up. It could hear the wind whistling around them both, feel it pulling through its matted hair, smelling stale and thin. The gropey one sat next to it. His hand rested on its thigh. He sucked on his vape and sighed. The wind carried the sweet strawberry away.

“Ain’t much to look at up here,” he said, “You ain’t missing anything.”

Snuggles hummed. Its face was turned up to the sky again. The sun was smiling on its skin.

“I don’t come here often,” he continued, “I ain’t much of a climber. Dylan comes up here sometimes at night, to stare at the stars. He says you can see them pretty well from here.”

Snuggles had no idea who Dylan was, maybe another man it hadn’t met. Two of the men would talk about space sometimes; the croaky one and the baritone. Maybe Dylan was one of them.

The gropey one’s vape whirred. “I used to sit off the top floor of the apartment block I used to live at. Like this;” He shuffled and scraped. He grabbed Snuggles’ leg and pulled.

Snuggles flinched as it was dragged. Its unheld foot slid over the roof and off, over the edge. The gropey one kept pulling.

As Snuggles’ butt reached the edge, the gropey one let go. Snuggles’ legs dropped and didn’t find a footing. Snuggles grabbed the edge and shuffled back a few inches to safety. The gropey one gripped it above the knee, holding it still.

“You ain’t gonna fall,” he said, “We ain’t even high.”

Snuggles froze. The gropey one guided it into his side, his arm around his shoulders. His shoe would tap against Snuggles’ foot as they both swung their legs, off-beat to each other. Pins and needles began to set into Snuggles’ toes and butt.

“You can’t see the stars from the city,” the gropey one started talking again, “It wasn’t even worth looking for them. I used to sit on the edge and stare at the asphalt.” His fingers traced idle circles into Snuggles’ shoulder. “I used to wonder how it felt to fall that far. But I never got desperate enough to find out.”

The wind whistled. The warmth of the sun seemed to fall away. Snuggles wasn’t sure if it was just the wind or the sun was hiding behind a cloud.

“It’s fucking weird, realising you’re suicidal. Makes it real. Kinda makes it worse, too. ‘Cause everyone thinks about death, but suddenly you realise that no one thinks about death this much. Or even not about **death** , just like… not being alive anymore. It’s not like you sit there thinking “I’m gonna blow my brains out tonight,” you sit there thinking “I don’t think I’m gonna be alive this time next year.” And then you **are** alive this time next year so you sit there thinking; “Now what?” Because you were so sure that you were gonna off yourself at some point that you didn’t bother saving money or making plans or anything, and now you can’t. You’ve forgotten how to make plans. Everything’s in the moment when you come to terms with the fact you’re gonna die soon. And then you don’t die, and you’ve fucked your own mental health in the ass.”

Snuggles whimpered as he rambled. It had stopped moving, his fingers still circling on its shoulder, his shoe now rested against its skin. His weight was heavy on its side as he leant into it.

“I still think about it sometimes,” he said, “Who’d find me? Who’d be at the funeral? Should I be saving for the funeral? I dunno. It don’t ever go away, y’know. I always got told I’d grow out of it, it was just some phase teenagers go through, and one day I’ll wake up and I’ll be an adult and I’ll be alive. But it ain’t like that. It fucks you up for life. It don’t ever go away, not really.”

He shifted. His other arm reached over Snuggles’ chest, embracing it tight.

“Gives you some real fucked up coping mechanisms too.”

He pushed. He pulled. He twisted. The roof seemed to back away from Snuggles, and it fell.

A strangled cry ripped from Snuggles’ throat. As quick as it could scream, it hit the ground with a thud, and a softer, shorter thwack. Pain rang in the back of its skull, and colours seemed to flash in the black of its vision.

Metallic footsteps clanged. Snuggles began to sit up, slow and confused. It’s hip ached, the pain building like a creaking hinge.

Its hip popped, and Snuggles screeched. It was like a bubble of numbness had popped, and now the agony burst out and spread down its thigh and up its ribs.

The gropey one’s hands ghosted Snuggles’ scalp. Snuggles flinched away, and its popped hip pulled. It yelped, and cupped a careful hand over the hip. It bulged, and the pain flared at the feather-light touch.

The gropey one tutted. He shuffled, and his hands came to Snuggles’ sides. “I’m sorry.”

Snuggles choked at him. His grip tightened, dragging Snuggles towards him. Snuggles flailed. The gropey one pulled, shifted, and forced Snuggles’ legs up and around him. Snuggles’ displaced bone seemed to grind against its socket as the gropey one cradled Snuggles in his arms and stood, lifting Snuggles with him.

Snuggles clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder. The door swung, slammed, the sun cut out, and the bolt slid home. Footsteps thudded. The gropey one stooped and put Snuggles down on the bed.

The mattress was lumpy, creaked a lot, and felt like it had a thick layer of grime over its surface. It wasn’t used much, occasionally by the gruff one when he was exceptionally drunk or the baritone when he was feeling lazy. The gropey one didn’t usually bother bringing it to the bed, fucking it over whatever furniture he’d been sitting on.

Snuggles laid back, hissing in pain. The mattress groaned as the gropey one sat by Snuggles’ legs. Snuggles whimpered as the gropey one traced over its throbbing thigh to its un-aroused crotch. He palmed it roughly. He squeezed, stroked up, and kneaded down again. The sound of his zipper dropping seemed to scream out. His hand kept working Snuggles to an unwilling arousal.

The hand pulled away. The gropey one hacked and spat, and the hand returned, slick, and stroked at Snuggles’ hole.

Snuggles groaned and babbled nonsense, trying to beg him to stop. It moved without thinking, pushing his hand away and covering itself.

The mattress seemed to lurch. The gropey one’s hand struck Snuggles across the jaw and it reeled back. He dove after it, seizing it by the hair and shaking it. He was yelling, his usual threats and degrading, but his voice swam into gibberish under Snuggles’ frightened cries and the groans of the bed.

The gropey one shoved Snuggles’ legs apart and pressed himself heavy between them. His hips weighed down on Snuggles’, forcing its defunct thigh out at an angle. The pain had grown into numbness from its foot to its ribs. His fingers forced into its hole, too dry and too rough to ever feel good. He thrust at random, kneading at the sensitive skin like he was trying to pull it open.

Snuggles sobbed. It clung to the surface of the mattress, fingers digging into the worn material like it was trying to pull itself down into the tangle of broken springs and hide there. The fingers twisted and thrust faster. Snuggles groaned. The gropey one was breathing hard above it.

The fingers stopped. He pulled away and patted at Snuggles’ knee awkwardly. He sighed and zipped himself back up.

The mattress shifted. The gropey one was silent, and he patted Snuggles’ leg again. Snuggles flinched away, and its legs fell closed. It froze in fear.

The gropey one sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “About everything. I know it ain’t much, but I’m sorry.”

He patted Snuggles again, then his footsteps slinked away. The bolt clanged, the door creaked and clanged, and the chain clattered on the other side.

Snuggles rolled onto its un-warped side, sobbing into its hands. The fridge hummed. Snuggles shivered in the naked cold. It moaned a sigh, crotch wet between its thighs.

This was the first time Snuggles had been allowed on the bed. Snuggles folded its arm under its head and tried to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> SO THIS SNUFF STARRED:  
> Johnny 3 Tears (the gruff one)  
> Charlie Scene (the gropey one)  
> Da Kurlzz (the croaky one, Matty)  
> Funny Man (the baritone, Dylan)  
> (In the first draft, I also mentioned J-Dog as "the fanged one", as he would have been the one who blinded Snuggles, and Danny as "the bubbly one".)
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED?  
> Charlie had found a scrapbook that Kurlzz keeps, and was looking through it while Johnny sat with Snuggles laid on him. (I'll leave it up to you how detailed that scrapbook is.)  
> Charlie turns to the page on Doe-eye, a past Victim Kurlzz kept at the same time he had kept and tortured Johnny. Johnny admits Kurlzz's suspicion that Johnny had killed Doe-eye. He demonstrates how on Snuggles.  
> Charlie has to force Johnny to stop before Johnny kills Snuggles in the same way. This leads to an argument in which Johnny says he would kill Kurlzz. He decides to leave.  
> Charlie chills, then ties to Snuggles to himself with the sheet from the bed, and carries Snuggles to the roof.  
> Snuggles sits in the sun, not having been outside in several weeks. Charlie monologues.  
> Charlie pushes Snuggles off of the roof. Snuggles' hip breaks on impact.  
> Charlie picks Snuggles up and carries it inside. He begins to come on to Snuggles, but can't get in the mood. He takes that out on Snuggles before he gives up and leaves.  
> Side note: breaking your hip can release toxins into your bloodstream that can kill you. For me, Snuggles dies around four days later and Kurlzz can't figure out why. Johnny later confronts Charlie about it, who admits he threw Snuggles off the roof. Johnny thinks he's an idiot but keeps it quiet.
> 
> The "did it get you hard" quip is a joke on me. One thing I delete a lot from Victimised fics is dialogue of the guys discussing what they do to Victims, largely because it's a difficult thing to write clearly without it coming across stunted and awkward. One line I use a lot is Charlie asking "Did it get you hard?" as his 'background' is that he developed a pornagraphy addiction that warped into snuff films then eventually real-life violence.  
> The "fucked up coping mechanisms" line is another joke on myself (and kinda on you, if you read this series super avidly). Reading/writing this series isn't a particularly healthy coping mechanism. Yes, its better than actually attacking people, but that is very low bar. The thing with coping mechanisms is that, even when they're not particularly healthy, they're typically healthier than not having a coping mechanism at all. This series is written with an understanding that one day, hopefully, I won't need it anymore (and, hopefully, neither will you) because either we'll no longer been in a situation where we need drastic coping mechanisms, or we'll find a healthier outlet than fantasising about violence. I know fantasy isn't reality, but the two affect each other a lot, and that's something I try to stay aware off, hence the "go [do self-care]" notes at the end.
> 
> This was a really difficult fic for me to write, as Charlie's monologue is actually based on my own experience and how I actually grew up. I'm not going to go into it, that's not what we're here for, but it's really not like the 'emo teenager' and 'quirky sad girl' tropes you get in media a lot.  
> The main reason this fic took so long to write was because 3 days after I wrote Charlie's monologue, I passed my driving test. Two weeks later I put the deposit down on my first car. I didn't even open this fic until the day after I took my car home, because it sent me into this existential crisis. Like I said, I was so sure I'd never live to drive, or even hit my twenties, that suddenly making a five-year plan to own and look after a car was a lot of sudden responsibility that I'd never bothered to prepare for.  
> But, despite that, i have a car, and I have insurance for it, and it's all okay. I'm still living, and typing this now is actually kinda baffling me with the reality of 'still living'.  
> So I think it needs saying here: yeah, being suicidal sucks and never gets full-on 'easy', and it is damned near impossible to picture a future. But the future's coming, and it doesn't always suck. I don't have anything particularly positive to say about life, or pushing through shitty mental health, but it doesn't always suck. It's okay, and okay is kinda good enough.
> 
> So with that, go do something that makes you happy. Have a snack, listen to music, cuddle a pet. Mental health is important.


End file.
